


In The Still Of The Night

by Joanne_c



Category: North And South 1985
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:27:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanne_c/pseuds/Joanne_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York winters are cold for a Southern boy, but George is warm, which Orry is more than grateful for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Still Of The Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frijo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frijo/gifts).



Orry had never felt anything so cold and brutal as a New York winter. He'd never imagined it was even possible for weather to get so cold. Living in South Carolina, he had been used to winters that weren't cold, even when there might be an inch or two of snow on the ground. Certainly not cold like New York winters, with their inches of snow, enough to rise over Orry's boots as he patrolled, and cold winds that seemed to cut through his body like a knife.

He knew George was more used to cold weather, though even he would shiver some, and get as close as possible to the roaring fire. Fetching wood for it seemed to help some too, or maybe it was because wanting to get warm would make them work faster for it. Whatever it was, the end result was a slightly warmer room, which was a start.

Of course, the problem was, the fire couldn't be relied on to burn all night. Orry would often wake up shivering, even under layers of blankets and clothes. It was getting worse and worse for him, he wasn't sleeping properly, he was freezing, he had just recovered from a cold that had been brought about by taking the foolish - and ultimately worthless as far as he was concerned - risk of saving the life of a man who seemed to hate him and all he stood for.

Orry tossed and turned in his bed, trying to get a little warmer. He could hear his teeth chattering, and he was trying not to disturb George.

"Orry?" the soft whisper told him that he hadn't succeeded in that. "You still feeling the cold?"

"Yes," Orry whispered back. "I can't seem to get warm, George."

"You'll wake up the entire room if you don't stop tossing and turning," George said. They could hear the snoring of peaceful sleep across the room, but Orry knew that wouldn't last too long if he kept moving.

"What do you suggest I do?" he asked, managing somehow to whisper emphatically. He wasn't sure himself how he managed to do that.

"There's only one thing for it. You get in bed with me. Stanley and I used to do that all the time - Pennsylvania winters might not be as brutal as New York winters but it got cold enough for it to be necessary," George whispered. "Now get here before I have to talk enough that it won't be necessary."

Orry wasn't sure what George meant, but he figured it was easier to do it than to argue. He wrapped his blankets around himself and made his way across to George's bed. At George's urgently whispered instructions, he draped the blankets over them both and got into the narrow bed with George. He felt like an icicle still, but it only seemed to take a few minutes before he was feeling warmth steal through his limbs and he closed his eyes, murmuring thanks to George and sleeping until morning. George shook him awake a few minutes before they would all have to be awake and Orry sleepily stumbled back to his own bed, wondering if this would happen again or if he was to only enjoy warmth for one night.

He was wrong, and a new ritual began. The next night, he waited until he heard the snoring again, knowing George was still awake, and he was urged to George's bed again. He made his way there quickly and slept well. Again, George woke him up a few minutes before everyone else would.

It became a ritual, George sharing his heat, Orry happy that he didn't have to deal with the cold any more. They slept in the narrow bed every night for several weeks, keeping it discreet.

Orry started to notice that he and George weren't keeping their distance as much as they had when it started. He'd laid stiff as a board next to George initially, then faced him, consciously, and one morning he'd sworn he'd felt George's arms around him, but he was sure it was just some kind of dream or George had mistaken his body in the night for one of his lady friends.

Orry knew that boys sometimes touched and held each other, it was, if not common, certainly known here, where there were few women, many boys didn't want to take advantage of the ladies like Alice Peet, and it seemed natural enough to allow a friend to be the one to touch you.

George had never shown the slightest interest, but of course he'd talked about some of the ladies, he'd even taken Orry to Alice Peet, but holding her had felt like a betrayal of his feelings for Madeline. He didn't know why he thought letting George help him would be different, only that it was how he felt. Maybe it was that George was a man, he couldn't possibly feel like Madeline would, all soft curves and gentle touches, unlike the aggressiveness Alice Peet had shown with him.

George, Orry thought, would be gentle, but not hold back. His hands would grip Orry's body hard when he needed it, and be gentle when that was what he needed.

Not that George would want him, of course. Orry knew he had a lot of lady friends, both back home and here. George didn't need the touches of another man.

Orry wondered if one day George might turn around and kiss him. That was about as likely as George not waking him up early, though.

Tonight, though, it was different. George was clinging, with his arm in the most awkward position ever, to Orry. Whose cock was pressed up against George's ass, and Orry can't help thinking about the stories he's heard, trying to figure out how it works with two guys, and wondering if George would want him. Which is probably not the best thought to have in the circumstances, because his cock gets harder as he thinks, and he can't move. He tries. Pushes back gently and George's arm doesn't move. Orry pushes forward and all that does is make him moan, though he does remember to keep it soft, even if it is the middle of the night, and it's soft enough that he probably isn't going to wake George. That's when Orry's cock makes the decision for him, or at least he lets himself think that, and he decides that maybe rubbing against George until he comes will allow him to move enough to get out. It seems to make sense to his completely sleep-addled mind.

If Orry weren't so exhausted, he'd probably have figured out how stupid that thought was, but he was and he didn't. He moved his hips slightly, moaning again, and soon he was setting a rhythm, the one that never fails to get him off when he's laying alone in the dark, more recently thinking of George, who was in bed beside him, and he could smell George's scent and before too long he was coming, forehead pressed to the back of George's neck, and hoping the other man hadn't woken.

Even as he thought that, George moaned. Orry didn't think twice, he just moved back and started to get out of bed. He looked over at the other man, then, with a blush that felt like his face was on fire. He was grateful for the darkness that hid the blush.

"I'll go," Orry said, softly. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't be sorry," George said. "I've been wondering how long it would take you to figure it out." He pulled Orry closer, holding him. "Don't think about it. It doesn't make a difference to how you feel about Madeline."

Orry nodded, he knew that much for himself. "Need to talk..." he murmured.

"We'll do that, tomorrow," George promised. "Just sleep. I'll wake you as always." He kissed Orry's forehead, then, almost too briefly for Orry to feel it, his lips. "Goodnight, Orry."

"Goodnight, George," was all Orry could think of to say. He thought things were about to get a lot more interesting in his life, and then he was asleep.


End file.
